


25 Hours A Day

by girlofthemoon75, Tizian23



Category: Jimmy Page - Fandom, Led Zeppelin, Robert Plant - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Band Fic, Character Turned Into Vampire, Established Relationship, Fanart, Gift Art, Human/Vampire Relationship, Illustrations, M/M, Rock Stars, Rock and Roll, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Touring, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25290670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlofthemoon75/pseuds/girlofthemoon75, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tizian23/pseuds/Tizian23
Summary: Taking a nightly walk by the beach in Hawaii Jimmy meets someone he never thought he would ever meet.The encounter entirely changes his life, that of his band and his golden babe. Or maybe not soo much after all?
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Robert Plant
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	25 Hours A Day

**Author's Note:**

> So  
> I have only once before written fantasy and AU. I have this in my head for a while now.  
> Bear with me I think it will be fun.  
> The wonderful [Girl Of the Moon](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/girlofthemoon75) has felt  
> inspired to add some of her mindblowingly wonderful art to my fic. I am super excited about it and can't thank her enough. ❤️  
> also I shall warn those who are squeamish a little : blood is mentioned and spilled but not much and it's not gory or anything.  
> x

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy takes a walk.

The last day of my life was a Monday -of all days- and when I woke up was I hung over.  
Thinking back I know now I wouldn't have done anything differently knowing it would be the last day - except I'd kissed him before he left.

Of course it happened in some fishy beach dive down in Hawaii. Exactly one of those that G hated to let me roam alone -and turns out- with good reason. Maybe not for the ones he imagined but I sure hated to prove him right.  
I had escaped the stifling golden red velvet cave of tasteless outrageous luxury that our hotel presented itself to be. In Honolulu there is no middle ground between this and gross dosshouses where you literally catch the clap from the bedbugs. I didn't feel like drinking champagne that day and I wanted to stretch my wings a bit -as Robert puts it- after the long flight in our favourite flying tin can. So I dressed down, salvaging one of the tiny t-shirts Robert always steals from merch instead of packing and his red plimsoles because I hate to have sand in mine. I walked through the kitchen to escape out the delivery entrance - shaking off any entourage that might have spotted me leaving my room. Stepping out into the deserted back alley I looked around to make sure I was alone and took a deep breath; bloody finally.

G had promised Cole, Bonzo and Robert to show them 'This Marvellous Club' down on Nimitz Highway - its a strip joint of course. Jonesy sure could be convinced to tag along as soon as it was mentioned that there will be nice knockers and decent booze along with "No one will know you." I know the spectacle already. G had taken me and the Yardbirds there when he wanted to suss out if I go for girls or boys. Half of the breathtaking 'girls' in Dunes Nightclub are actually boys. And I was a tiny bit sad I wouldn't get to see Bonzos' face when he clocks that. He's got not a single sexually ambivalent bone in his BlackCountryBoy™️ body and can be endearingly naive about such things. Bless him. Jonesy is gonna be immensely entertained (like always when faced with silly debauchery), order more drinks for everyone and close Coles dropped jaw for him. Robert will probably ogle and touch and lick and suck everything that is put in front of him and then come running to my room to bang me all six ways to Sunday. Maybe he will bring someone along as a treat and that would be ok too. They were destined to have a bright, loud evening but I needed something else that night. So I wandered down to the beach promenade; pleasantly dim-lit and not very crowded. The balmy, salty sea air and the unhurried attitude of everyone around me minding their own business wound me down quickly. I love water. Salt or no salt makes no difference, the sound of waves crashing makes me feel at ease immediately. Maybe I was a bit homesick. Soon I discovered a perfect looking boozer - it was more a hut by the shore; sparsely decorated with coloured lights and sea shells. Totally un-touristy and probably the place were the people who work in our hotel go to after work. No one looked at me twice when I sat down at the bar and waved at the tattooed barkeep for a beer and a rum shot. He came over barely noticing me when he put my order down in front of me, accepting my handful of coins from several countries with a derisive snort.  
After swallowing the mouthful of smooth rum that left a luscious peachy aftertaste on my tongue I took my bootle outside and sat down in the famous black sand, since I came to have a drink by the beach. I took my shoes off, buried my feet in the sand and rolled a cigarette with the tobacco Robert had forgotten in my jackets' pocket. He used to do it when he was too skint to buy proper cigarettes.

" It's cheaper, you know."

He explained sitting crosslegged in my unmade bed when he taught me how to roll. I remember thinking if I should tell him how he'll soon be rich enough to buy his own cigarette factory. It was surprisingly hard to learn but I really came to like the tedious little task before being rewarded with the cigarette you worked for. I only do it when no one watches me because I am not very good at it yet. When I was finally victorious over the fine papers and eternally fleeing tobacco crumbs I lit up and let myself drop backwards into the warm sand; ran a wayward finger over the cold, sweaty glass of the beer bottle half buried in the sand next to me. I felt really good, very relaxed and free of any worry. I thought of Robert and how he probably had a bum in each hand at that exact moment, feeling dizzy, tizzy and overwhelmed at the sheer overload of naked skin and bright lights and probably quite high too. I hoped he had fun. Closing my eyes for endless, precious minutes while I listened to the waves softly lapping at my naked feet now that the tide was coming in. I felt wonky. The moon above me was fat and yellow gold and so close to earth it looked almost touchable. I had a slight buzz; it was so welcome and pleasant after all the time of anticipation, stage frights and rushes, of being pressured to drink, party, of dutifully displayed debauchery. Thinking about the gig in two days and how I wanted it to be recorded. Something interrupted my musings about multi tracks and if I could get Robert to sing with two microphones again which he hates " because it doesn't please my hand." It sounded like steps in the sand but when I looked up - half prepared to lie about who I am and deny any relations to that band from England - the beach was empty. The bar behind me was had slow business now and I'd hear the their radio play " Midnight Rambler"- the only Stones tune I ever really liked. I dropped back into the warm sand rubbing my naked feet through it, digging my toes in, half tipsily contemplating to go for a little dip. I reached for my beer and had another sip, loving the bitter taste, the coldness, the soft dip my stomach took at the alcohol finally flooding my senses. I hadn't done that for a long time. I usually don't drink alone or at home... not even in the studio. I can't write music with a buzz either. It works with Robert and the band together but drinking alone normally makes me sad and sadder the more I drink. So I avoid it. But that day it felt great. There was a gentle draught coming in from the sea. It smelled like a promise. I finished the beer and spilled the last drops in the sand as a gift to those -above and beyond- who gave me the welcome peace of this precious moment. I tried drawing our 4 symbols in the wet sand with my toe but the waves came in too fast to ever finish my own glyph. It was simply was too intricate .. maybe that's a metaphor for me as a person- I make things that are supposed to easy very complex.  
When I looked up the next time because I thought I heard something I still didn't see anything but I heard steps again. I was absolutely sure. Sitting up I glanced up and down the nocturnal beach. Nothing but waves, soft sand, palms and not a soul in sight.

And within the slip of a second I knew I had been right. Not a soul. The was a wind in my hair out of nowhere and faint whisper from somewhere. I saw the sweat drops of water on my beer bottle slowly ice over like white frost with tiny crackling sounds. My skin tingled and the peach fur on my arms rose like hackles on a wild animal. I was so scared that I went down easily when he finally leaped on me. Hit me like a fright train, knocking all air from my lungs, keeling me over on my back. Before I'd get enough air back to call for help I was flung over and pressed face down into the black sand. I thought in a detached, amused way how funny it was that of all things that I assumed that could-would-should happen to me in a warm night on a dark beach in Hawaii being killed was the last one I had considered an option. I felt fingers in my hair, legs pressed to my sides, a tight ass sitting on mine. A hard, immovable hand between my shoulder blades, nails cutting through the fabric of my shirt. Finally I found my senses to fight back and struggle under the iron grip and the colossal weight on my back. My mouth was full of sand and the hand that before was stroking my hair suddenly pushed my face deeper into the sand, cutting off all air I still had. I struggled and bucked like a bronco under my unwanted rider. It was the second longest blink of an eye in my life. There was breath on my neck then a iron-wrought velvet voice in my ear:

" I'll let you up for air if you stop fighting me, but if you scream it'll be the last thing you'll ever do, understood?"

Sand in my eyes, in my nose, sand in my mouth down to my throat, sand slipped through my helpless fingers, sand in my underwear and my feet wet in the waves of the incoming flood, not a whiff of air to squeak. I am still ashamed I gave in so easily. I nodded. The hand eased up and I turned my head sideways spitting out my mouthful of black mud, when the suddenly soft hand came back to brush my wet hair out of my face and wipe off the dirt stuck to my skin. I coughed for a minute but I didn't dare to open my eyes, partly because there was sand in them, partly because I hoped he 'd let me go if I didn't see him. His calloused fingers slid in the collar of my t-shirt and suddenly I realised there could be something else he'd want because had he planned on mugging or killing me I'd not be coughing or even only still breathing now. Tears welled up that I could not fend off or wipe away.

The sound of the ripping t-shirt and the pull at the collar cut my air off as I sobbed mindlessly : " Oh Gods. Oh fuck! Please no. No no noooo!"

The voice was hard but sounded unimaginably amused. I heard a faint Scottish accent, but it tainted by other dictions " Stop crying James. That's really not what I want from you even though you are quite delicious I've got to say. You won't die either." A dark chuckle. "At least not yet." My heart leapt over at least three beats at that last remark.

" SO, do you want to see me or will it be easier if you can't?"

I shook my head. All I could think of was Robert and how I might never see him again. I didn't even properly kiss him when he left. I just had smacked his arse and told him his jeans were too tight to go to a strip club. I felt how my t-shirts back was parted by a long sharp finger nail that cut my skin too. The cut burned and I felt blood trickle down my sides. He ran his finger through it. I heard a sucking noice and a little moan.

" Do you have the slightest idea how good you taste? Vanilla, bergamotte, some smoke and Chinese pepper...tickles on my tongue."

All things unholy... what is this thing? But no. Let's be honest: I knew what he was at this point.He swept my hair over my right shoulder freeing my neck, running a claw from from the groove below my ear down my throat to cup my shoulder with a large hand. Peeking through my lashes I saw well manicured black talons and skin paler than mine. I heaved out a dry sob, not ready when I felt his breath on my skin.

" I don't wanna to lie to you, James this is gonna hurt. You better think of something nice." He growled into the cradle of my neck, that gave home to so many of Roberts sighs  
.  
Robert! I closed my eyes and thought of him, standing in the spotlight next to me, his golden curls around his face haloed by the light, spinning around on his snake heel to look at me, called by the hungry moan I teased out of the Dragontele with the bow. A unholy smile on his lips, a sway in his step as he prances closer... like he can't help it, answering my call with a sinful sigh of his own. His eyes closing for a split second, as he was thinking about all the other ways I can make him feel good.

The breath on my skin got hotter and I felt lips touching the slope of my neck.A gentle kiss pierced by the most agonising pain I heretofore felt in my life. Blood ran down my throat and pooled in the sand underneath my body, soaking through the fabric of my t-shirt. " So wasteful" I thought grumpily as he took the first mouthful. The pain ebbed away, numbed with adrenaline and the peace of mind that comes with knowing it's too late now. " The gall of him. Fucking jumps me on a beach to paw me and drink my blood and instead spills half of it in the sand." Then he sealed the bite with his lips and began to drink, the aching, loosing pull of his thirst made me feel progressively faint. I wondered if this was the last moment of my life and I wasted it by thinking about black sand and the colour it might have soaked with blood. I forced my eyes open and looked down the moonlit beach. From my perspective half buried in the sand I felt so close to that blue horizon that I could see being swallowed by infinity above the ocean,violet skies and endless eternities of stars twinkling faraway. It was so beautiful.  
" Baby, I wish you could see this." I whispered before my lights went out; narrowing down to a small piece of his smile when he the very first time sat in my lap years ago in Pangbourne. Hopeful, wicked, untainted and all mine. Then: hard cut to black.

When I came to it was still dark. All the stars were still there, the full moon had barely moved and the waves were still softly breaking into the black beach, all the the birds still crooned in the trees. I could still feel the warm salty breeze on my skin and it still felt great. I sat up, shivery, noticing I now wore my blazer on my naked chest, the bloody ripped t-shirt placed under my head as a make shift pillow.  
" Oh you're back again. That's good." So, HE was still there as well. Crouching down behind me, I felt more than I saw his knees framing my shoulders. His words fanned a black curl into my face as he whispered in my ear:  
"Listen to me, James. You go home now, make love to your golden boy, take an aspirin before you go to sleep. Tomorrow night will be the best of your life ...and if you're certain he is THE ONE then you make sure to sleep by his side and take him first." He got up and fondly stroked my hair for a second before he chuckled darkly.  
" I'll find you when you need me. Oh and get a bloody haircut... you won't want to look like a hippie prince forever." Funny, how I heard his steps in the sand only when he walked away.

I couldn't find my bloody t-shirt anymore so I pulled my jacket closer around me before I got up shakily, took a few steps and found I wasn't as weak as I expected. I had a terrible taste in my mouth so I slunk up to the little bar again whose radio now played "Devil in Disguise ". Just when I was about to order I realised I didn't have any money anymore. The barkeeps' eyes widened briefly when he saw me; he nodded and slid another beer over the bar in my direction before he turned away. I was gone without a glance back. Greedily downing my beer in big thirsty gulps I strolled down the unlit seaside promenade towards our hotel. I still had half a mind speculating if I just fell asleep and had a really bizarre dream. Could it really be that happened what I thought that happened? Listening to my own bare feet on the pavement I tried to evaluate if I felt anyhow different...well my neck hurt, but I when I touched it warily I didn't feel any wound. I could smell my own blood and fear sticky on my skin however and that made me sure something indeed did happen and I wasn't deluding myself about what and by whom. The night felt crisp and suddenly I came aware how all my senses were tingling. I felt the air around me, warm and tender stroking my skin with admiring touch; the stars looked way way brighter and much closer than they did before I closed my eyes to think of Robert and his smile earlier by the beach; I heard the birds rustle their feathers in the palm trees, the seashells tinker in the surf, washing black sand into the blue sea, a pretty girl laughed when a boy whispered something dirty in her ear and the innuendo made me smile. I'd smell the freesia on her perfumed shoulder and the fur of the sleek black cat sleeping on the still sun-warm stone bench over there.

When I came back to the hotel I didn't sneak in through back door like I did when I left for my fateful beach walk. No, I walked through the wide open golden front gate, nodding to the night porter who welcomed me back like he saw topless, bare-foot, dishevelled rockstars walk in with blood in their hair and fright in their eyes every night of his life. For the first time I felt like I was perfectly invisible, flying under anyones' radar when I crossed the surprisingly busy lobby and waited for the lift. None of the insomniacs, thirsty entourage and bored groupies saw me traverse the bright foyer. Nobody raised his head the I passed by so close that my breath hit their face. For the first time in my life(?)I finally was invisible when I wanted to be.A soft ping announced the elevator, I stepped into the empty cabin, full of mirrors and nondescript music. I pressed the button 6 for my floor with a long finger, the blood rimmed nail broken. Bollocks, I thought, that was my favourite nail.. 'S gonna take forever to grow that again. I stuffed the hand in my pocket to get it out of sight and mind.  
Looking down at my pale slender feet sinking into the carpet, I was at short notice afraid I might not see myself in the silver glass around me.When I had gathered just about enough courage to actually have a look I felt something in my pocket. Small, round and heavy. By the feel I could tell it's golden. Pulling my hand out I find it's an immaculate, brand-new gold Sovereign, from 1875. Now what was I paid for with this fortune? Twisting the heavy warm coin between my fingers I wander down the hotel corridor. It was completely quiet, which was in itself unusual. It's never quiet when you've got Led Zeppelin in your quarter. It should never be quiet when you shack up with Led Zeppelin. And it's never quiet when you shag Led Zeppelin. I sniggered with that last thought when I stopped in front of my room looking at the door and the little golden sign under neath the spy-hole. Room 69. Hm. Cole must think he is super funny. OK I actually agreed: It indeed was super funny.  
The door wasn't locked, swinging wide open without a squeak. Blimey, he never looks door, one day Robert will wake up with someone in his bed he really doesn't want there. Standing on the doorstep I was whisked away by a blow of cold fury over the idea someone could touch him that he doesn't explicitly want to. Like what happened to me a few hours ago. It was gone as fast as it came and I stepped into my room - was my own even before I suddenly started feeling like I need invitations to enter anywhere. I didn't need the mellifluous light from the hallway to look around in the dark room as I walked in quietly closing the door behind me and locking it. The room smelled of the jasmin, tube roses and the sea.

Robert was already home. Curled up in bed, his cast-off jeans and boots next to the bed, an empty bottle of champagne with 2 flower garlands slung around it on the bed side cabinet. Seemed like he had a great night. He had opened the French windows before he went to sleep because he knows I love the smell of water. The sheer curtains billowed in the warm night breeze from the Pacific that was so close. I could see the faraway horizon from the middle of the room. And it looked different than it did when I left this room unsuspectingly. I went to the en-suite and washed my hands. For a long time and with lots of soap and warm water. I threw cold water in my face, scrubbing the last grains of sand away, rinsing my mouth, spitting out a mouthful of blood tinged water, ran wet fingers through my hair. I was rubbing my face and hair dry with a fluffy white towel as my eyes fell on Roberts toiletry bag that stood next to the sink, filled with love beads, soft baby brushes, overpriced moisturisers from the duty-free and the golden nail scissors he uses to trim split ends. Looking at the small ornate tool I felt the voice in my neck again:  
"Oh and get a bloody haircut... you won't want to look like a hippie prince forever." I curled my locks around my fingertips while I considered this piece of advice. My hair was very long, tumbling down way beyond my collar bones, a deep chocolate brown, with lush lighter maroon streaks from where the sun bleached it last summer. It took lots of time and effort for it to look the exact way I wanted it. The roadies sniggered about it. Girls seemed keen on petting it. Robert laid on it all the time.  
I fished the scissors out of the bag, broodily played with them, staring into the off, pondering my next step as I slowly ran my thumb over the edge of the scissor blade. A small pearl of blood bloomed up on my finger beforeI finally made up my mind. I watched the drop run down over my finger, soiling the immaculate white of the sink. I parted my curls in the back as ifI were about to braid them, pulled them over my shoulders, gathered them in my right fist under my chin and slowly cut above my fist. Almost 20 cm of my treasured black tresses fluttered in the blood spattered sink. I cut the other side; slowly and without looking into the mirror in front of me. It looked like a lot more in the sink than when I had im my fingers but it felt good. Lighter. Easier. New. I shook the now shorter ends in my face, gathered a few more strands and snipped off some right over my nose to create a fringe I'd shake into my eyes. Done! The little scissors clinkered lightly against the porcelain when I let them slip from my fingers.

Having cleaned my hands like Pilate and sheared my hair like a novice I stepped over the bright sliver of moonlight that parted the room in two worlds. There was an angel sleeping in the bed on the other side...now what did that make me?  
Carefully I sat on the end of the bed that held my Precious. He used to make fun of me when I called him that. Peeling off the dirty jacket I dropped it without a second thought. I laid down beside him and buried my head in the thin duvet covering his hips, let his very own unique scent and the safety of his presence lull me to peace of mind.  
When he moved and signed in his sleep something stirred in me - made me feel wild and hungry. A cat in the open door watching the birds play in the garden A base instinct that was asleep before or maybe never even there.

I looked up at him bedded on his silk pillows (they are good for his hair he says-less frizz), one hand holding on to the corner of the pillow, breathing deeply and dreaming of sunshine.  
I crawled closer. Hovered above him... smelled him, drank his lovely sight in like the reward for this strange night of unexpected experiences. I made it home after all and here was my prize.  
Never before had I noticed how good he really smelled. He smelled like cherry coke, lip stick and come, he smelled like sex, like I want to make him moan, like bending a naughty boy over a table in a dingy backstage. But he smelled also like home, like my sheets in Pangbourne, like expensive tea and buttered toast in bed on a sunny afternoon, like the velvet-linned case in which my favourite black guitar travels, like guitar wax, squeak-new strings, like decade old book pages, like that electric white noise of my Marshall when I plug in.

He stirred as he sensed me so near, turned around in my arms and hummed a sleepy, happy  
" Baby..!" into the crook of my neck- just where the bite still smarted a bit. " You've been out long..." Barely awake, he pulled me down by his side. His soft hands on me warm, familiar and welcome.  
I opened my arms and he slipped half underneath me, the thin coverlet between us doing a wonderful job not hiding his glorious nakedness against my half dressed body - sleeping naked is his idea of a handwritten invitation. " Did you have a good night? Fun?" He mumbled, rubbing the tip of his nose on my collarbone, his breath fanning me.  
I could feel his skin exhaling the days heat, in his hair a faint hint of my shampoo, almost overwrought by smoke and the scent of the jasmine and hibiscus flowers from the several leis he had joyfully worn all day after they had been given to us. He wore one in his hair when he left with the others for Dunes. He flinched imperceptibly under my calloused fingertips lightly caressing his skin between the sheets, bound to the find the all places that hide his sighs.

" You smell like flowers and sex, you silly hippie boy, " I lamented before kissed his forehead, my lips traveling down over his temple, softly pecking the corner of his mouth, breathing an answer to his question between us.  
" My night was ...live changing. Possibly horrible but with a happy end. Loopy, really." With that sentiment I parted his lips and pushed my tongue in his pliable sweet mouth; tasting honey and smoke. His surprised little moan of surrendering excitement I swallowed like a sugar-sweet pill, knowing it would make me higher than any drug. My heart started jumping and grew tipsy on me...  
I wanted him so much it almost rendered me speechless with hunger. Good hunger, sexy hunger, making him happy -hunger. Yet a tinge of worry flew into my heart on dark wings. There was a nervous flutter...repeating the same few questions in my head:  
What if I am dangerous?  
What if I am wild?  
Can I keep it together when I make love to him now?  
What if I hurt him?  
Maybe he'd like it? He likes the other rough things I do for him...to him..let him do them to me.  
What if I do something irreversible?  
Can I give him whatever I have now?  
What is this odd sort of hunger I felt earlier?  
Am I hungry for HIM or am I HUNGRY for him?  
No seriously: What if I really hurt him?


End file.
